


Bonfire Toffee

by okapi



Series: Holiday Tentacle!lock [6]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Anal tentacling, Crack, Double Penetration, Exhibitionism, Fluff, Food, Frottage, Guy Fawkes Night, M/M, Porn, Sherlock Holmes Has Tentacles, Short Chapters, Spitroasting, Tentacle Job, Tentacle Sex, Tentacles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-05
Updated: 2019-11-06
Packaged: 2021-01-23 18:56:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 4,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21325024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/okapi/pseuds/okapi
Summary: John's planning Bonfire Night nibbles. Sherlock's tentacles have other plans.Tentacle!lock. Sherlock/John. Cracky, fluffy porn.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Series: Holiday Tentacle!lock [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/847866
Comments: 46
Kudos: 78





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by a look at BBC Good Food website for Bonfire Night. All the recipes are available: [bonfire toffee](https://www.bbcgoodfood.com/recipes/bonfire-toffee), [tomato soup](https://www.bbcgoodfood.com/recipes/2604646/creamy-tomato-soup),[ baked potatoes](https://www.bbcgoodfood.com/recipes/bonfire-night-baked-potatoes), [mulled cider](https://www.bbcgoodfood.com/recipes/mulled-cider), and [sticky toffee pudding](https://www.bbcgoodfood.com/recipes/3682/ultimate-sticky-toffee-pudding).

John woke to the sight of a bare-chested Sherlock sitting up in bed, fiddling with his mobile and, thus, felt no compunction whatsoever in reaching for his own phone, which was on the bedside table.

“It’s the fifth of November.”

“Good morning to you, too,” replied Sherlock, without looking up from his phone.

“Tonight’s Bonfire Night.”

Sherlock hummed.

John launched into his usual morning of symphony of sniffing and snorting, then said,

“With the hellish case and last night’s celebration of the conclusion to the hellish case, I lost track of the days. I want to watch the fireworks tonight, Sherlock.”

Sherlock grunted, then began, “John…”

“No,” said John, ignoring Sherlock. “I want to make ‘a thing’ of it. A real thing.”

“A thing?”

“A typical Bonfire Night with typical Bonfire Night nibbles and tipples. Let’s see,” John rolled away from Sherlock and began tapping his mobile, “bonfire toffee, of course, and what else? A thermos flask or two.”

Sherlock leaned forward slightly, and one of his tentacles, one of the smallest of the four pairs, emerged from a slit in his back. It tapped Sherlock on the shoulder and pointed at John.

Sherlock waved the tentacle away, then pressed his lips together in a gesture that, if John had seen it, would’ve warned him that a delicate inquiry was in the offing.

“John, I’d like to pose a question.”

“Curried soup. Tomato? Pumpkin?” wondered John aloud. “Uh, what were you saying, Sherlock? Question? Yeah, go for it.”

“Last night’s celebration, as you called it, involved myself as well as my appendages…”

“Jacket potatoes!” cried John. “With cheese and bacon and garlic and cream and lots of butter…”

“…and I was curious if one part of the encounter struck you as most satisfying, from a pleasure-providing standpoint, you understand. Put another way, do any of my limbs stand out in your recollection as being more attentive, though, perhaps, ‘attentive’ is not the most precise term…”

“Mulled cider. And, oh, look at this, sticky toffee pudding,” said John.

“John!”

“Huh? Oh, I’m sorry.” John looked over his shoulder. “Repeat the last bit again, love.”

Sherlock huffed. “Which of my tentacles are the best lovers?”

John blinked. “Uh, I don’t know?” He frowned, and his gaze wandered to the wall. “I usually think of them collectively, as a team, you know, with you. And last night was…” John whistled.

“Oh,” said Sherlock, deflated. Then he nodded and returned his attention to his mobile. “Thank you.”

John smiled. “You’re welcome.” He turned back to his mobile. “Sticky toffee pudding,” he said with a sigh. “Christ, I wonder if mine would look like that? Probably not.”

“John,” said Sherlock, after a few minutes of silence. “Would you be willing to consider the topic?”

“What topic? The soup?”

“No, the topic of my tentacles as lovers, considering an assessment of their prowess, in pairs, you understand.”

“Uh, why not?” said John vaguely, his back still to Sherlock.

“How?”

“What?”

“How would you assess them?”

“I suppose I’d hold contest or something. All right. I’m bookmarking all of these. Bonfire toffee, tomato soup, jacket potatoes, mulled cider, and sticky toffee pudding, if I’m feeling ambitious.”

“Really? A contest?”

“Yeah. I’ve got to get to the shops.”

“When?”

“Sooner the better.”

“Today?”

“Yes, Sherlock, today! I need a list. Tea?” John rolled back to kiss Sherlock on the cheek, then he sprang from the bed.

“Yes,” said Sherlock. “Tea.”

“You got it.”

When John had crossed the hall and closed the bathroom door, all eight of Sherlock’s tentacles unfurled, wriggling wildly about him.

“You’re welcome,” said Sherlock.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John returns with the ingredients for his Bonfire Night meal, and the first contestants have their round. Tentacle job and a bit of anal tentacling.

“I had to take a cab back. Look at all this, and there’s more,” said John, catching his breath before darting back down the stairs.

“You drew the short straw, so it’s your show,” said Sherlock quietly as he walked to the shopping bags that John had deposited on the floor. The two second smallest tentacles extended, reaching down to slip ‘round plastic handles and hoist four bags in the air.

Sherlock then moved to the kitchen. The tentacles laid the bags gently on the table.

“Oh, thank you,” said John, bringing the rest of the bags to the table. “I think I’m ready.”

“Good,” said Sherlock. “So are they.”

The tentacles caressed John’s upper arms and shoulders.

“Oh, are you going to help?” teased John. “That would be wonderful.”

The tentacles eased down to John’s waist, hugging him.

“Hello, you, two,” said John, sliding his hands up and down the grey appendages. “I love you, too. Now, let me…oh!”

The tentacles had separated, one snaking ‘round John’s arse, caressing the cleft through stiff denim; the other tentacle was toying with the buckle of John’s belt.

“Hey!” cried John.

The tentacles froze.

“Not good?” asked Sherlock.

“Uh, well, I suppose I could take a break, before I even get started, but the cream and the cheese and the milk need to go in the refrigerator or they’ll spoil.”

No sooner were the words out of John’s mouth than the tentacles were picking the items out of the many bags, and Sherlock was hurrying to the far side of the kitchen.

John chuckled. “Eager, huh? After last night, I thought you’d be tapped out.”

“I am,” said Sherlock, hurrying back, “but they aren’t.”

“I see. Oof!” John’s belt buckle was unfastened, the front of his jeans was open, and the tentacles were worming their ways inside his clothes. “Right here?” he asked, reaching back to grab the edge of the table.

“Anywhere you’d like, John.”

“Nah, here’s as good as anywhere. Oh, shit, they’re…”

John moaned and closed his eyes.

“Self-lubricating?” suggested Sherlock, studying John’s rapt expression.

“Yeah, I love it when they get all wet by themselves.”

“That means they’re aroused.”

“Yeah, well, that makes three of us.”

The tentacles emerged to push down John’s jeans and pants until the fabrics bunched mid-thigh.

John’s prick was erect, thick and beefy pink, the head just brushing the tail of his vest and jumper. One tentacle coiled ‘round it like a snake while the other darted into the gap between John’s legs.

John’s lower body jerked. Then he exhaled noisily.

“Oh, yeah. This one does that thing.”

“Thing?” asked Sherlock.

“Like rimming but not quite. Not quite a finger, not quite a mouth. I love how it teases me, like it wants to fuck me, but it wants to keep me on edge, too. Oh, fuck, baby, look at it.”

John’s eyelids fluttered open. He dropped his gaze to his prick, which was almost entirely concealed by grey coils.

“Other blokes might panic seeing something like a serpent wrapped ‘round their member,” observed Sherlock.

“Other blokes are missing out. Fuck, watch it, as it’s twisting, it’s squeezing me so gently, so perfectly, waves of contraction and release. It’s like it’s milking the come out of me, coaxing it, or something. Fuck, fuck!” John’s hands went behind his head, his fingers clasped. “Oh, a little bit deeper,” he pleaded, glancing behind him, “just probe a bit, not too deep, oh, you know what you’re doing, you fucking tease. Christ! It’s not going to take long, not with these two.”

John’s hips rolled forward and backward, backward and forward.

“I can’t decide what I like more, the front one, massaging me like a python and my prick’s its dinner or the back one, giving me just a taste of what I want, over and over, making me want to beg for it. Christ, it’s like being caught between two seasoned whores who know every single trick in the book.”

“Interesting simile,” noted Sherlock.

“I’m coming, love.”

John’s prick spat, right onto Sherlock’s dressing gown.

“Sorry about that,” sighed John, “but tomorrow’s laundry day.”

The tentacles unwound from John’s body and began to retreat towards Sherlock.

“Hey, don’t leave yet,” said John. “Thank you.” He kissed one, then took the tip of the other in his mouth and sucked. He hummed as it slipped out of his mouth.

The two tentacles began setting John’s clothes to rights.

“So how was it?” asked Sherlock when the tentacles had finished their task and disappeared through slits in the blue silk.

“Great!” said John. He moved his hands to Sherlock’s shoulders. “Would you like…?”

“No, thank you, but no, I think it would be confounding.”

“Confounding?”

“How ‘great,’ John?”

“How great what?”

“How great was the sex?”

“Uh, really great?”

“On a scale from one to ten?”

John laughed and then pressed his lips together and tilted his head to one side. “Seven?”

Sherlock nodded.

“So, are you going to help me with this?” John waved at the shopping bags.

“Oh, no,” scoffed Sherlock. He turned on his heels and made to leave, but then halted. “When will you be ready?”

“Ready for what?”

“To have sex again, of course.”

John looked blank, then frowned. “Uh…” He puffed out his cheeks. “Uh…maybe an hour or so? I’m going to work on the soup first.”

“All right. Until then.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The soup is done. John agrees to a break. Frottage. Exhibitionism.

“How’s this?” asked John, holding up a spoon.

“Good,” pronounced Sherlock after tasting. “I much prefer tomato to pumpkin.”

“So do I,” said John. “And they were all out of pumpkin.”

“Are you available at the moment?” asked Sherlock as his largest tentacles, each almost the thickness of Sherlock’s arm, encircled John’s waist.

“I suppose so.”

“If you’re not, say so.”

“Well, I have potatoes to jacket. And cider to mull. And toffee to, well, whatever you do to make toffee, but, yeah, I am at a lull. Oof! The big boys, huh?”

The tentacles braided together and pushed between John’s legs from back to front and rubbed, sawing their joined form against John’s crotch.

“Are you certain, Sherlock, you don’t want…?”

“No, it would be…”

“Confounding?”

“Precisely.”

“All right. You know what? I am feeling like I want to ride these fellows.” John quickly turned the hob to its lowest setting. “But not here. Not in front of the soup.”

“My bedroom?”

John closed his eyes and hummed. He gripped the end of the tentacle braid but made no effort to slow its movement, back and forth, back and forth.

“John?”

“Hmm?”

Sherlock smiled. “Would you like to go to my bedroom?”

John breathed out. Then he opened his eyes and grinned a wicked grin. “No.”

* * *

“Oh, fuck!”

John was nude from the waist down, straddling Sherlock’s two tentacles, riding them like a horse, in front of the street-facing windows of the sitting room. Sherlock himself was behind John, hidden in the folds of the curtains.

“Anyone can see you, John,” he remarked.

“I know, but they can’t see you. They know you’re fucking me, well, if they know us, they know you’re fucking me. And if they don’t, they know I’m being fucked, and, bloody hell, am I being fucked! Yee-haw!”

“Such an exhibitionist.”

“It’s these two. They bring it out in me. The way they rub the most sensitive parts of me. Oh, shit!”

The tentacles loosely braided themselves along the length of John’s erect shaft.

Wetness oozed from their pores.

John threw his head back and groaned. “It’s like being clamped into a pleasure device, a warm, wet, living, knowing pleasure device. Is it any wonder I want to show off? Hey, world, look at me, getting fucked, exquisitely fucked, I might add, in the most unimaginable way by…oh, God!”

John’s body started as if hit by electricity.

“It’s like shark’s skin, rub it the wrong way and you get a curious friction. Do it again.”

The tentacles obliged.

“Fuck! No more, yeah? I’m just going to sit here and slid my prick in between these big, fat, wet…oh!”

John’s seed decorated the rug and one leg of the desk.

“Thank you,” he said. He squeezed the tentacles as they eased from under him.

One of the appendages slapped John’s bottom as it went. The other tugged the hem of John’s vest and jumper down in a show of modesty.

John laughed. “Bless you, but I’m shameless.”

“Indeed,” said Sherlock. “So how was it?”

John rolled his eyes and drew the curtain. Then he bent to retrieve his hastily discarded jeans and pants.

“I don’t know. Eight? It was lovely. They are very strong. I’m quite the wanton tart for them.” He put his clothes back on.

“All right. Now, when do you…?”

John rubbed the back of his head and looked toward the kitchen.

“Sherlock, the only thing on my mind right now is potatoes. So, unless you fancy grating some cheese or frying some bacon, I’m not keen.”

Sherlock frowned. “Later then.”

“Sure. Later.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John finally realises what's going on. Anal. Nipple play.

“All right. Potatoes scooped out and the mush prepared. Bacon cooked and chopped. Cheese grated. Just needs assemble and re-heating. I suppose I should move on to the…”

“John.”

“Hullo, Sherlock.”

“How are things coming along?”

“Good.”

One of the smallest of Sherlock’s tentacles smoothed John’s hair.

“Oh, you,” said John softly and brushed the thin, ribbon-like appendage.

John halted and sighed as the tentacle slipped to the nape of his neck and was joined by its twin. They commenced to knead the muscles beneath John’s collar.

“God, that feels good,” groaned John. “It’s getting late. Where has the afternoon gone…?”

“You’ve been busy. Why not take a break?”

One tentacle abandoned John’s neck and slid beneath his jumper and vest.

“Oh, fuck!”

“Your nipples are very sensitive,” noted Sherlock.

“Yeah, and when they’re wet like that…” John closed his eyes and shivered. “Christ, they make me feel so good.”

“They adore you.”

One corner of John’s mouth lifted. “It’s a mutual admiration society.” He hummed. “Oh, all right, even though I have to…mull…something…”

“Here? Or in the front of the window?”

John snorted. “In your bed.”

* * *

“Oh, fuck, oh, fuck, oh, fuck…”

John was nude, kneeling on the bed, half sitting on his heels.

Sherlock was sat about a breath’s distance behind John, the closest he could be without touching him.

One tentacle was buried in John’s arse; the other was draped across his chest, looped around each nipple; both dripped with slick.

John attempted to spread his knees wider and mewled plaintively. “It’s tickling me, brushing around my sweet spot, not stretching, just, fuck, making me want…” He began to bounce. “Oh, oh, oh…”

The loops around John’s nipples tightened into knots.

“Oh, yeah, pinch ‘em, baby, pinch ‘em hard.” John’s naked body broke out in the thick sheen of sweat. “Ah! Oh, God, I love it!” His voice rose to a high pitch. “One or two strokes, baby, and I’m yours.”

The tentacle at John’s chest dropped to his throbbing prick and obliged.

John’s prick was soon shooting streaks across the duvet.

Then he fell forward, landing right in the mess.

“Ugh!” he groaned as the tentacles abandoned him.

“So,” asked Sherlock after a short interval, “how would you rate it?”

“What the fuck is this rating business?” John pushed up onto his arms, his chest and chin covered in goop. “It’s not like it’s a contest.”

“Of course, it’s a contest.”

“What?”

“You’re deciding which of my tentacles is a better lover or, set of lovers, sort of like tennis, doubles, you know…”

The smallest tentacles punctuated Sherlock’s statement by waving like a cheerleading halo behind his head.

“You agreed to it this morning!” protested Sherlock, answering John’s glare.

John’s expression went blank, and his eyes wandered. “Christ, I did, didn’t I?”

“Yes!”

“I was thinking about jacket potatoes, Sherlock!”

“So, does this mean the contest is cancelled?”

The rest of tentacles crept out and all eight seemed to hang expectantly about Sherlock’s shoulders.

John frowned. “No. But I want my Bonfire Night, Sherlock! I am going to prepare the mulled cider, and then all I have left is the toffee.” He sighed. “There’s absolutely no way I’m going to manage sticky toffee pudding. Ah, well, maybe Christmas or New Year’s. So, after the cider’s ready, I’ll meet you and the final contestants back here.”

He rose and grabbed Sherlock’s blue dressing gown.

“Oh, John…”

“What the fuck does it matter?” asked John, gesturing to the dressing gown. “I’m covered in spunk, too.”

“No, I mean, the rating?”

“Oh. Uh, nine.”

The smallest tentacles wriggled madly.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which everyone learns the perils of competition the hard way. Spit-roasting. Double penetration.

“Oh, God, no, don’t slow down, I’ll suck you more, come back, come back! Mmpgh!”

Sherlock had been forced by circumstance and the length of his appendages to turn his back to John, which he did not like at all. But he’d opened the wardrobe door and angled the mirror, which was mounted on the door’s interior, so that he could see John being effectively spit-roasted by the third-largest tentacles.

The tentacle crammed up John’s arse had slowed its thrusting, and the one dangling in front of his lips had twirled and curled in the air in a decidedly coquettish manner.

John had lunged and snapped like a feral beast, grabbing the tip of the teasing tentacle in his mouth. Then he’d sat back abruptly, impaling himself further on the tentacle still buried inside him. His eyes pinched shut; tears streamed from the creases.

John sucked and sucked with an almost fiendish frenzy. At intervals, he arched his back and lifted his arse and made whimpering, pleading noises ‘round the tentacle invading one end, clearly inviting the ploughing he was receiving at the other.

His prick was, once again, hard and leaking.

Really, thought Sherlock, John’s refractory period was nothing short of extraordinary. Like the rest of him.

The tentacle slinked out of John’s mouth; as it retreated, it wiped his lips like a mother might a messy child.

“Fuck me! Fuck me, you bastards!” roared John, and when the rear tentacle seemed to be obliging, he made noises through clenched teeth.

The tentacle that was not in John’s arse wrapped around John’s prick, but only once. It had chosen not to coil ‘round the member as the others had. It disappeared from Sherlock’s view.

“OH!” John’s moan was deep and hollow and full of sudden awareness.

Sherlock could see the tentacle slithering ‘round John’s prick, but the end of it must be…

“Oh, oh, oh…”

“John? Are you okay with this?” asked Sherlock, concerned. There had not been a whole lot of negotiations.

“Yeah,” slurred John. “I’ll take ‘em both. Look at me, Sherlock, I’ll let them fuck me however they want for as long as they want. I’m such a shameless wriggle-slut…”

As he said this, John lifted his head and caught Sherlock’s gaze in the mirror.

Sherlock’s brow furrowed.

John’s eyes were glassy and unfocused, but the tentacles kept writhing, thrusting, increasing their tempo until…

“ARGH!”

John’s prick unloaded streaks of come, but as it did so, the rest of his body seemed to bolt into the air, then flop onto the far side of the bed.

It was like a flying fish, if flying fish could ejaculate as they flew.

“John? John!”

John’s leap had yanked him from the tentacles’ grips, and they curled back towards Sherlock as Sherlock circled the bed.

Sherlock stood over John’s inert form, then poked him with one finger. When he spoke, his voice was thick with scorn.

“Well done. You’ve broken him. Sorry?”

The rest of the tentacles emerged, and the eight surrounded Sherlock, looking, as much as tentacles could look anything, very sorry, indeed.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All's well that ends well. BOOM!
> 
> Thanks for coming along on this silly little journey of mine. A jacket potato to each and every one of you!

BOOM!

“Huh?”

John woke to darkness.

“Sherlock? Sherlock!”

“Perfect timing, John,” came the reply from down the hall.

“What’s going on?”

“Put your jacket on. Here’s a hat, too.”

A bundle of clothing was dropped on John. He rubbed his face.

“What’s going on?”

“Remember, remember, the fifth of November, something, something, I don’t know…”

“Oh, shit, Sherlock! I missed Bonfire Night!”

BOOM!

“No. But you will if you don’t hurry. Shoes.”

John put a hand to his chest and another underneath himself and pushed up to a sitting position.

“I’m dressed.”

“Brilliant observation. Come on, John!”

John did as he was bid and allowed Sherlock to lead him down out into the hall and onto the fire escape.

“Sherlock?” John asked as they climbed.

“What’s the point of having a flat in central London if you can’t enjoy the view? Be careful.”

“What are those?”

Sherlock’s tentacles were like limbs of a tree, with items hanging from each.

“Two thermos flasks, one with curried tomato soup, one with mulled cider. One bundle of bonfire toffee wrapped in wax paper, two jacket potatoes, and a bottle of water.”

“You made all of that?!”

“You made most of it, John. I will take credit for the toffee, though.” A tentacle twisted his ear. “Partial credit, I mean. It was a team effort. Here we are. Steady, now.”

BOOM!

“Christ, this is lovely,” said John, grinning when he and Sherlock were settled on the roof. “Thank you so much. It’s like a dream.”

“Jacket potato?”

“Holy Mary, yes. Bacon! Cheese! I’m starving!”

BOOM!

“Oh, wow! Pour us some soup, too, yeah?”

“Certainly. Cheers.”

“Cheers.”

“Well, John, I speak for the entire organism when I say we’re very sorry for, uh, rendering you incapacitated.”

John laughed. “Yeah, today was a bit much, and, Sherlock, really, it’s not on to grade your tentacles as sex partners. It’s a muddle. They are you, but not quite. You are them, but much more them, too. Different lovers have different ways of loving, and it’s all good, right?”

“They’ve learned that lesson, John. They have no desire to harm you, it’s sort of, what do you call that Star Trek nonsense?

“Prime directive?”

“Yes, secondary directive, of course, after not hurting me, and they came as close to hurting you today as they ever have and well…”

Eight tentacles curled around John, gently squeezing him and tenderly ruffling his hair and sweetly caressing his cheeks.

“I love all of you, Sherlock. You and them, together. And I consider myself the luckiest bloke in the world that I get to sit on a rooftop and eat fabulous nibbles and watch fireworks with you.” He snuggled close and touched his forehead to Sherlock’s while the tentacles cocooned ‘round them.

BOOM!

Sherlock and John watched the fireworks while the tentacles acted as attendants, refreshing their cups and collect the rubbish, and, at last, popping shards of toffee into John and Sherlock’s mouths.

“Perfect toffee,” said John, crunching. “Well done.”

“They took turns with the hammer. It was all very civilised.”

John chuckled. “And you did all this while I was knocked unconscious by…?”

Sherlock laughed. “…overzealous buggering?”

“Not quite, Sherlock. It wasn’t overzealous.”

“No?”

“I mean, as I recall, and I admit my memory is foggy, I was begging for it.”

“Very true.”

“So, there you go.”

BOOM!

“You are a bit of a tart, John.”

“Yeah. Hey, but speaking of tarts…”

“I was just about to.”

BOOM!

“I may like be fucked in front of the window, Sherlock Holmes, but you watched me get fucked four times today. I think that qualifies you as a voyeur.”

“That thought crossed my mind, too, today.”

“So, how about when the show is over, I apply my not inconsiderable talents at love-making to your person?”

“Hmm. I’d be amenable to that.”

“One sided, I’m spent, but maybe the cavalry,” one of the tentacles tapped John on the shoulder, “would consider swooping in to help.”

“They’re very obliging that way.” Sherlock licked his lips while John scarfed down more of his jacket potato. “But to go back to my earlier point, speaking of tarts, neither you nor me, but the genuine confection, there’s a surprise treat waiting for you. Up to you whether you want it served before or after my own, ahem, just desserts.”

“Really? Oh, Sherlock, you didn’t!”

“I only supervised cerebrally. My assistants, however, were industrious, and, luckily, the recipe bookmarked in your mobile was straightforward.”

“Sticky toffee pudding?”

“None other.”

“Oh, Sherlock, oh, you all, you’re the best!”

Sherlock hummed and leaned in and met John’s lips with his own as the tentacles squirmed in the air.

BOOM!

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!


End file.
